


Shame

by SephMichiRook



Series: Control [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Military Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, season 12 episode 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephMichiRook/pseuds/SephMichiRook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Wash chuckled.“Miss me, soldier?” he asked, and his voice was once again that low, rough one that apparently only Dick Simmons could make happen</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The last twelve hours of Wash's life saw everything he had fought for on Chorus turned upside down. Blue team was tearing itself apart.  Even his body had a mind of its own. </p><p>Simmons had been glad to see everyone.  Especially Sarge.  Until Sarge showed him off to the crazy lady like some kind of high school science project.  </p><p>Separately, they ventured into the jungle to clear their heads.  They end up leaving even more mixed up than before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shame

“…I can do this myself,” Wash heard Simmons say through the closing door. Doctor Grey and he were passing by, talking about the likelihood of Carolina staying off her leg when he saw Sarge and Simmons passing into the room, one of the private offices in the research station.

“Huh. I wonder what they’re up to,” she said. “Want to take a look?”

“Not really,” Wash said. He sighed when she ignored him. He shook his head as she smartly walked through the sliding door.

“What’s going on in here?” she asked, as Wash followed her in, a few steps behind. Simmons was lying on the examination table, striped to the hips. Currently, his eyes were squeezed shut, and a heavy blush was quickly overtaking his face, neck, and shoulders. Sarge was standing over him with a handheld scanner. The leader of the Reds had taken off his helmet, and it was sitting on top of a pile of maroon armor, obviously Simmons’. “Is that a Carna 375-B Monitor?” she asked.

Wash wasn’t aware of Sarge’s reply, or the piece of equipment Sarge was holding, or Doctor Grey taking off her helmet. There was a roar starting in his ears, staring at the half-naked man that he had finally managed to regulate to ’alone time’ thoughts. His eyes couldn’t seem to settle, trying to take the view in as quickly as possible. The bright red blush on skin almost translucently pale, the freckles that seemed even more prominent on his shoulders than on his face. The starburst scar over his left eye, so clearly white against that same blush. More scars, obviously surgically smoothed down, but still wide, crooked, and branching several times from his collarbone to hips. In particular, the intriguing C cut around his belly button. The glimpse of pubes below, several shades darker than that on his head. A surprisingly lean body, but not skinny. There was strength there, well defined muscles. The left hand, slightly discolored, being lifted by Grey.

There was a pause in Sarge’s and Grey’s conversation, and Wash became aware of Sarge looking at him. The former Freelancer was suddenly grateful for his helmet, to cover the flush of his own skin, and increased breathing. The leader of the Reds said something about taking the helmet off. Not trusting his voice, Wash simply backed out of the room, and hurried down the hall, away from everyone.

It wasn’t until he was sure he was completely alone that he stopped, bracing his hands against the wall. He stood there, elbows locked, legs back, head hanging for several minutes, concentrating on getting his body back under his control. They didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time for this. Just. Breathe. It was one time, a moment of weakness. Simmons didn’t belong to him. He didn’t need to lose his shit over it, no matter how good the view had been. All those days of calisthenics and training had obviously paid off for Simmons. No! Do not think about that! Breathe. Just. Breathe.

Control.

When he finally thought he had it at least pushed down enough to pass for normal, he stood up and headed for the jungle. Not too far, well within radio distance, in case of trouble. As he left the outpost, he noticed a large utility knife near the door. He smiled as he grabbed it. A little target practice would do him good.

* * *

 

Wash wandered, working the knife through his hands, tossing it back and forth, occasionally sending it flying at a leaf or fungus, then retrieving it. It was therapeutic, the focus needed cleansing the emotions of the day away.

His time with the Feds had been an acceptable balancing act. Yes, there was a higher authority, and Locus always lurked nearby, but he was able to see that Sarge, Donut, and Lopez not only were safe, but were thriving. Going from place to place, training and inspiring those troops, it had been right. Really, he thrived, if he was honest. If there was worry about Caboose and the others, that edge of anxiety kept it real. After all, he wasn’t made for happily ever after. Nothing in his life had ever made him think he’d get that ending. So if he had been simply able to end the war, reunite the teams, and get off this planet, he’d have been content.

But no, it’s never that easy. Everything that had felt good about their separation had been a carefully orchestrated plot to decimate people that trusted him. His eyes narrowed at the thought, and his knife went through something that looked like a rat. Someone was going to pay for that. Felix. Locus. Their employer. They were all dead men. Sooner than later.

But right now, he had Tucker and Church fighting for his leadership spot, Carolina’s lone wolf thing putting them all in unnecessary danger, the fate of an entire forgotten planet resting on their shoulders, and even his body was rebelling from a brief look at man he had barely noticed a few weeks ago.

The control Wash thought he had gained never actually existed. It had been a well-crafted lie.

He came around a corner bend in the overgrown path apparently worn by the former denizens of the research station and found a clearing. Only about twenty foot by twenty foot, it was surrounded by denser plants, vines and trees creating living walls on three sides. The area was almost too brightly lit by the opening in the vegetation on the other end, overlooking the station, even as it hid the clearing from view from below. Standing with his back to Wash and the path he had to have come up, looking down over the station, framed in the light, was Simmons.

The red head apparently had been in a rush to leave Sarge and Dr. Grey, because the only armor he was wearing was what had been left on in the exam room. His torso and arms were covered in Kevlar, but no gauntlets and helmet were anywhere to be seen. His underarmor wasn’t even fully fastened, leaving an intriguing narrow V from his hairline to right between his shoulder blades.

The view really was breathtaking.

The little voice was back, telling Wash to turn right around and go back down that path he just came up, and forget this. This time, though, Wash ignored it completely. The predator in him smiled. Here was a perpetrator of his shattered control.

Time to claim some of that control back.

Quietly, the former freelancer removed both his helmet, gloves, and chestplate, and set them down by a tree near the path. Connecting the knife to his thigh, he walked quietly up behind Simmons, marveling a little the other man hadn’t heard him yet. Wash smiled, the fact Simmons was actually three inches taller than him finally connected in his head. Somehow, it made having him on his knees all the more satisfying.

Wash knew the moment Simmons finally realized he was there, the quick intake of breath as his mouth pressed against the base of his neck. Still, the taller man didn’t pull away, and Wash closed the inch between them, his hands coming up to rest on Simmons’ hips. The Red’s breath shuddered out of him as Wash let his lips lightly follow the vertebrae up, then, nuzzling the underarmor aside, running his lips up the other man’s neck to that spot right behind Simmons’ ear. The Red’s head fell back, and he moaned as his left hand came up to cup the back of Wash’s head. His right hand came back to Wash’s hip, trying to pull the blond closer.

Wash chuckled.“Miss me, soldier?” he asked, and his voice was once again that low, rough one that apparently only Dick Simmons could make happen.

“Yes, sir,” Simmons replied, his voice just as low, but quiet and shaky. The noise he made when Wash nibbled his earlobe had the Blue’s cock jerking, and he ground his codpiece against Simmons’ thighs and ass. More of those little noises happened as Simmons pushed back against him, and Wash‘s eyes narrowed. Unhooking the knife, he brought it up against Simmons’ neck, still with the underarmor between the blade and that pale skin.

“Did I tell you to move, soldier?” Wash asked condescendingly as Simmons went still in front of him.

“I… No, sir,” Simmons said.

Wash smiled, sliding his lips back down Simmons’ neck, so they were resting again at the base of his shoulders. “I didn‘t think so,“ the blonde said, continuing to grind against his ass for a moment more. Simmons’ hands dropped to his side as he somehow managed to both tense and relax at the same time. Wash let his right hand slide around Simmons’ hips to caress the tent at the Red’s groin. Wash smiled against his back. “Mmm, you missed me quite a bit, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir!” Simmons’ said through a groan. “I wouldn’t lie to you, sir.” His next groan was disappointed when Wash’s hand left him. And then they were eye to eye, so very little distance between their lips. Those green eyes looked dazed, glassy, and that flush was back, and this time, Wash could easily see the eight point star appear over the left eye.

Wash carefully dragged the blade up over Simmons’ chin and cheek. The tip came to rest at the top most point of the scar. He slowly traced that line down, Simmons’ eye closing as he gave another shuddering sigh. “Are your fingers still talented enough to get me out of this armor,” the blonde practically purred.

“Oh, yes,” Simmons replied, as the knife followed the second line of the scar down.

“Excuse me, soldier?” Wash asked, now on the third line.

“Sorry, sir. Yes, sir,” Simmons bit out as the knife crossed his eye, following the final line in the starburst scar.

“Better. Now, get my cock out, soldier. It needs attention.” Wash ordered. Simmons’ long, talented fingers complied, and Wash groaned with just the brush of the warm, rough fingertips on the head. “Oh, fuuuuck.” The codpiece hit the ground, and both hands wrapped around Wash’s cock.

It was the blonde’s turn to let his head fall back, giving Simmons a chance to examine Wash’s manhood. It must have been the angle before that hid just how big it was. Not quite a wide as a pop can, and definitely longer than his two fists together. The idea that he had deep throated that so easily last time had Simmons impressed with himself, and a little desperate to see if he could do it again.

“Like what you see, soldier?” Wash sneered, and Simmons realized he was panting a little bit. He looked back up as the knife slid under the neckline of his underarmor to rest against his pulse point, daring to meet Wash’s steel blue eyes. Saw the same thing there that he was feeling. There had never been any doubt who was behind him, whose lips were touching his neck, whose body pressed against his. It was so easy, sliding into this with him. So damned right to let Wash take control.

“Yes, sir,” Simmons said. “Permission to suck you off, sir?” He felt a little thrill shoot straight from the sting of the blade pressing against his neck straight to his own cock.

“Permission denied,” Wash said, pushing a little harder with the knife and his free hand, forcing Simmons to retreat until his back hit a large tree. “Keep speaking out of turn, and I’ll have to find a way to keep you quiet,” he said, scraping the edge back up Simmons’ cheek and up to his mouth. He pressed the tip between those tempting lips. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Simmons stared, wide-eyed, at the hand holding the knife. He shuddered, and parted his lips slightly, and the knife slid in smoothly. Why was he letting this happen? He pressed his hands into the tree behind him, wanting to tap out or something, not because he wasn’t enjoying feeling the smooth metal, tasting the bitter sap and coppery tang on his tongue, but because he was, and shouldn’t he be scared?

He trusted Wash in this, and that made no sense at all. And that made it all the more exciting.

Wash watched the blade slide in and out of Simmons mouth for only a few moments. He pushed in until he felt resistance, seeing something in Simmons eyes that gave him a flash of concern. But when the other man didn’t stop him, Wash just lifted the knife, guiding him up on his tip toes. “Put your hands up and cup them,” he ordered. Simmons complied, right hand resting inside the left. “The other way,” Wash corrected him, and Simmons switched it. Wash nodded his approval when Simmons was where he wanted him. “Don’t. Move.” Wash took the knife out of his mouth, flipped it around, and slammed it into the tree right under Simmons’ hands, edge up.

“Sir?” Simmons almost squeaked, testing the edge against his palm. Thank God it was his cybernetic hand. If it had been his flesh one, it would take one slip to slice it right open. Of course, all he had to do was open his hands. But that would ruin it. Whatever this it was. And damnit, Simmons needed it. Looking into Wash’s eyes, he knew they other man did, too. Maybe even more than he did.

Wash stepped back to admire his handiwork, stroking himself. He let his eyes travel slowly downward, imagining the body that had been displayed on the table earlier. In fact he only thing that would have made that view better would have been…

Wash chuckled and stepped forward to free Simmons from his underarmor. His cock sprang free eagerly into Wash’s hand, and Wash chuckled more as Simmons groaned loudly. “I fucking love how hard you are,” Wash said, wrapping it tightly in his fist for the first time. He started to give it long, slow strokes. “Don’t hold back, soldier. There’s nobody here but you and me.”

“Yes, sir,” Simmons groaned. “Please don’t stop. Your hand is so fucking good. Rub your thumb over my slit.” Wash thought about reprimanding him for speaking out of turn, but damn, he wanted to hear more. He did what Simmons asked, sliding the foreskin back a little to catch the precum on the pad of his thumb. “Sir, fuck, sir, yes! Rub it around my head! God damnit, don‘t stop!” Even as he followed Simmons’ demands, he had to pick up the pace his own cock, watching Simmons as he did so.

“You’re a fucking piece of work, soldier,” Wash said, his voice and his balls getting tighter. He adjusted his grip, working them both with the same hand, a few strokes at a time. He caught Simmons’ chin, brushed his precum- coated thumb over the red head’s lips. “That mouth. Do you know how many nights I’ve thought about that mouth?” He stuck his thumb between Simmons lips, keeping eye contact with him. “About how tight that throat of yours is?” He didn’t know when Simmons had stopped blushing, but it was back with a vengeance now. Pleased little noises came from that throat. “You definitely know how to please your superiors with that mouth.” Wash pulled the thumb back out, smiling at the loud pop, and the quick flicker of the tongue following it.

The hand moved lower, resting at where he remembered the top of the scar network on his chest was. Wash looked down at where his hand rested, envisioning that blush spreading down his body. “Not an ounce of fat on you, is there?” he said, using his index finger to trace the path of the scars on his torso over the underarmor. “I’ll admit, I was surprised, but you’re a good soldier, aren’t you? Always keeping in shape.” His fingers traveled down to his stomach. “You even have a bit of a six pack, don’t you?”

It wasn’t until he traced that C-shaped curve by the belly button that Wash realized the sounds Simmons were making had changed. The Blue looked into the Red’s eyes, and realized, somewhere, he had made a mistake. Because even aroused as Simmons still was, it wasn’t the thing that dominated his face. Shame. Whatever Wash had said or done, Simmons had crossed the line from acceptable embarrassment into shame. “Shit,” Wash said. He reached up, taking the knife out of the tree, and Simmons came down on his heels hard. “I-”

Simmons yanked him hard into his shoulder. “Don’t you dare stop until we’re fucking done,” he whispered fiercely. “Just don’t stop.” Wash nodded, and Simmons let go, stretching both arms around the tree behind him. It struck Wash in that moment. Simmons trusted him. Even now, as ashamed and hurt as he was, for whatever reason, Simmons was giving Wash complete control. Simmons trusted him to fix this.

Wash frowned. It was a gift he didn’t know he needed so badly, and one he had no idea how to use. But he needed to get that edge out Simmons’ voice, to give him something back.

Wash dropped to his knees and wrapped one hand around Simmons’ cock. Picking the knife back up, he glanced up at the other man’s face. Simmons was watching him as he ran the flat of the blade around the Red’s erection. Then he carefully ran the tip along the vein on the bottom, and Simmons whimpered, trying to hold still so he didn’t actually get cut.

“Don’t think so much,” Wash said, lips brushing the tip. And then Simmons gave a startled cry as Wash suddenly took his erection into his mouth, sucking it down until his lips rested against his hand. It was the first time he had ever given a blow job, but he tried to remember the things he loved about the ones he‘d received. He sucked hard, and the vaccum he created made pulling back so slow. He broke the seal with a pop, then slid back down again.

Simmons was seeing stars, his knees were weak, his mind was blank, and the only thing he heard was his own groans and cries. Wash’s mouth was hot and wet and tight, and his fingers were in the right place, and technique improved with every bob of the blonde’s head. His fingers pushed through the short blonde hair, holding on for dear life.

Meanwhile, Wash slammed the knife back into the tree and worked his own painful erection. A brief flash of admiration for the Red for being able to do both so effortlessly last time came to him, and then he was racing for his own end, so he would be able to focus more on the man in his mouth.

A sudden beep came from nowhere, freezing them both. A second one came a second later, and Simmons let out a long string of curses that impressed Wash. “I need to get back,” he said, gulping for breath to speak normally. “Sarge calibrated me, that’s my check in notice.”

Wash stood up slowly, staring into Simmons‘ eyes. “You can’t go back like that,” he said.

Simmons glanced down, and one corner of his mouth tilted up. “We don‘t have time to do anything about it,” he said quietly. “Sarge has a tracker on me, he’ll come looking.” He didn’t have to say the mood was broken, even if they were both still as hard as rocks.

“Can you even walk?” Wash asked. Simmons swallowed, causing Wash to groan and drop his head into Simmons’ shoulder. “We’re going to get caught if you keep doing that kind of thing.”

“What?” Simmons asked. The Blue just stroked his Adam’s Apple. “Why?”

“Because I’ll have down on your knees swallowing me,” Wash replied, nuzzling his chin.

“Not what I meant,” Simmons said softly. “ _Why?_ ”

It was a loaded question, the one Wash didn’t have the answer to, one they didn’t have time to explore. So instead, he pulled Simmons’ collar down, exposing the thin red line smeared with blood. “Stop thinking.” He pressed his lips to the cut, heard the hissed inhale. His tongue darted out, tasting sweat and blood, and Simmons’ head fell back as far as the tree would allow, another one of those little noises that Wash was coming to enjoy so much escaping. Wash allowed himself a brief smile, just another stolen second, pressing himself tight against his… him.

Their cocks got caught between them, flesh rubbing together and against the rough kevlar of their suits, and they both moaned. All his. He rocked his hips, felt the slide of velvet covered steal against his own. His Dick. Simmons thrust with him on the next movement, and they both groaned louder, and then they were grabbing each other’s hips, each with a hand gripping both cocks, that damn beeping speeding up, becoming their rhythm. Their foreheads pressed against each other, eyes closed, racing toward their orgasms. “Wash-”

Wash let go of Simmons and dropped to his knees so he could swallow the other man again. A few quick bobs, and Simmons unloaded down his throat. Wash gagged, and a  little of the creamy fluid leaked out the corner of his mouth. Once Simmons had finished, Wash rested his head on the other man’s stomach as he finished himself off, shooting it onto the tree between Simmons’ feet.

The maroon soldier recovered first this time, wiping that trail off Wash’s chin with his thumb as he tucked himself back in, and then he was running back down the path and disappeared. Wash stayed on his knees for several more minutes, running it all back in his mind. He was finally putting his armor back on when he got word Grey and Carolina were looking for him. Again. He sighed.

 Two things were clear as he walked down the path, knife forgotten. One, he owed Simmons an apology for… something. Two, he better figure it out, because apparently neither of them had any intention of exercising self control when they were alone. The thought made him inexplicably satisfied. Now, he just needed to figure out how to make sure he never made Simmons ashamed about this again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this took long enough to come together, and even longer to get close to right, I think. Constructive Crit accepted.


End file.
